


demoness v. queen

by heartsinhay



Series: HSWC 2013 [4]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-16
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-23 16:22:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/928610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartsinhay/pseuds/heartsinhay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>China, 1945, and the woman who is not yet Her Imperious Condescension takes to a plane to defend her skies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	demoness v. queen

They call her the Demoness.

The Demoness, singular: there is none other like her (or at least you hope). She has chased your men up and down the coastline for the past three months, and now when they say 日本鬼子, Japanese devil, they mean only her. You saw her once, a blur of dark hair and patterned cloth in an enemy cockpit. She was beautiful.

Today you woke up and thought to yourself: no more. Now it is the coastline, but tomorrow it will be the rivers, and the day after that it will be the capital. For your country (which is in a very real and personal way yours, to serve and protect and own, for your men, for yourself, you will slay this demon with your own two hands on the controls.

The mechanics start with surprise when you enter the hangar in a flight suit and not desk uniform. You choose the best plane (American-loaned, like all the best planes) and let your hair fill the back of the cockpit.

By the time you’re in the air, the rumor has already spread through camp: Commander’s going to kill the Demoness herself. Your soldiers show up to watch you, filling the space between tents, doffing their caps and tugging on their braids. They call you Wu Zhao when they think you’re not listening, after the Empress, and you can ‘t help but do a loop in midair just to show off.

It doesn’t take long for you to find her—she’d been attacking your camp a lot, can’t stay away, and you are not fifteen minutes in the air before you see the maroon and electric green paint of her plane. You shoot at her before you even have to think about it, but she barrels away and shoots a missile of her own.

You dodge, banking left hard, and fly straight at her, so close you can see her making a suggestive gesture at you through the glass, your wings overlapping as you fly safely above and off your collision course. You want—you wanted her to see your face, see the hatred in your eyes, know that it was you who killed her, and her response was a lascivious—your face flushes just to think about it and you gun the engine, firing at her, spiraling behind her to fire at her again.

It was a mistake to let you get so close. She has no room to dodge, and in just a moment she is going down, you’ve shot the Demoness down, and it is only after you do a barrel roll of exultation that you realize your own wing is leaking exhaust fumes. You scramble, hoping that you remember the button for “eject”, hoping your muscles remember how to deploy a parachute, and then suddenly you are out, floating slowly downwards in the air. You can see the Demoness and her own parachute, painted with a taunting monster’s face.

You fall. You roll. When you look up, battered by the landscape, the Demoness is right there. You stumble up, nearly falling over a few times, weaving like a drunk woman, just to get to her, and there is no small satisfaction in her doing the same. Your first punch hits her square in the jaw and overbalances you both, and then you’re on her and she’s kicking you and you’re punching her and then she shifts, suddenly, and you are on her, her hand already squirming downwards towards your pants, and. Let’s just say that you make the Demoness scream.

Later, you sit up and pat down your hair, picking out leaves and sundry bits of grass. You don’t think you could count this as either a victory or defeat. Perhaps it was containment, of a sort. You ponder this as you dress—

Fuck. You don’t dress. You can’t dress.

_That bitch stole your clothes._

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this]() prompt:  
> Handmaid/Condesce
> 
> WW2, any location


End file.
